Dancing in the Dark
by babygray
Summary: 'Dying for some action'. Potter, hiding at 12, Grimmauld Place. Snape, looking for relief. Set during Deathly Hallows.


_Notes_: If you haven't guess, this is very much based on the Bruce Springsteen song of the same name. Years ago, I thought of making a slashy visual thing based on the song, maybe a comic or an AMV. But, I can't draw, and I'm all thumbs when it comes to video editing, so I thought, "VIDFIC!" But then I realized those are almost as bad as songfics. So, instead, here's a short story set during _Deathly Hallows_ that isn't very slashy at all. (Damn you canon for intruding on my fun!) Might just have to go back to my original idea... :) Please enjoy.

_Warnings_: Rough, un-beta'd, filled with typos. Also, everything mentioned above. Comments/criticisms always welcomed.

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><p><em>Dancing in the Dark<em>

The wind howled against the windows of the drawing-room for a moment, drowning out the crackle of the flames and that of the radio. Harry woke up only an hour ago, but already he was struggling to stay awake. The dark night outside seemed to sap away what little energy he had. He rubbed at the crust still in the corner of his eye. His face felt filthy, and he was too tired to care.

He was tired of a lot of things lately. Tired of waiting. Tired of hiding. Tired of the dark, dank shadows of Grimmauld Place closing in on him. Out there, people were fighting, dying. There was action and excitement, and things more vital than what he was doing now, sitting and staring at the fire. Something was happening out there, and he was here.

He bolted to his feet and began to pace. The stone figurines on the shelves groaned as they moved, watching him with their granite eyes. The woman on the radio was talking about something, but it was hard to focus on the empty words. What Harry would give anything for music, for news, for something tangible that would make the world a bit warmer, a bit more real.

He went to stand by the window, not daring to pull back the curtain, irrationally afraid that someone would see him if he did. It was easy to forget sometimes that the house was still Unplottable and tucked away in Secret. Its defences, however, were not perfect, and Voldemort did have someone who knew the way in.

He could see a man standing across the square, the whiteness of his nose catching the waxy yellow light of the street lamps. It was only a matter of time before the Death Eaters found their way here, Harry knew. Snape would let them in on the Secret, and Harry and his friends would have to find somewhere else to hide.

The only questions he had were 'when' and 'why hadn't Snape done so already'.

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><p>Severus caught his reflection in the mirror, and mesmerised by the sight, found himself staring. There was a gray strand of hair at his temple, and a sudden urge to tear at his skin filled him. He wanted to change. He wanted to shed his very self onto the floor and escape, find some relief from the heavy obligations and expectations, the weight of the entire world, on his shoulders.<p>

He slinked away, disgusted with himself. He did not have time to let these wild fantasies distract him from what he had been set to do. The world was growing colder and Darker, and the slightest slip could spell disaster. One mistake, and it would be his body carved up, hanging from the rafters for Nagini to devour.

He pulled out his ragged treasure from his pocket and gazed down at Lily's face. She was smiling, bright and unburdened, and if he allowed himself, he could let himself pretend that she was smiling up at him. That the warmth of her expression, as fresh and as real as the grime underneath his fingernails, was for one such as him. The green of her eyes sang of easy springtime.

Only when his eyes began to burn did he tuck the torn picture away, back into its pocket above his heart.

The darkness outside was impenetrable, and his broken heart was black with misery.

He draped his cloak over his shoulders and pulled the hood over his head. He glanced once more into the mirror; all that could be seen of his face was his nose, jutting out of the hood's shadow.

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><p>Harry abandoned the window and flopped onto the couch. The radio droned on, and bitter frustration was making his skin itch. What he wouldn't give for something, anything, to drive out the boredom. To ignite a spark. To alleviate this hunger in him for <em>more<em>.

He wondered where Hermione had disappeared to. He wondered if Ron had fallen asleep upstairs. Harry was suddenly feeling very alone.

He went back to the window, seeking out the man across the way, needing to know that he wasn't alone in this darkness, even if the other was an enemy, waiting to destroy him.

He pushed the curtain aside and stared at the white nose, at the slump of the man's shoulders. His robes were black, and the way he stood, swaying towards the shadows, as if dying to hide from view, triggered a memory in Harry.

He clenched his fist as a great wave of rage filled his belly.

_Snape!_ his mind shouted as the man's head tilted upwards. Harry could see the glittering, beetle-black eyes staring right through him. Snape's voice echoed through his head, muttering words he had screamed at Harry not two months before.

And now, the hood over the man's face fell away, just enough for Harry to see. That _look_ on the man's loathsome face, daring Harry to come out of his hole, to do what he had sworn he would the next time they met.

And Harry's body was on fire, dying to smash that look off the man's face until his hands came back covered in the other man's blood.

He ran to the front door, ignoring the chattering elf heads on the wall. Mrs. Black, startled out of her quiet, bitter droning, began to scream. Harry held his wand out and and ready as he threw the front door open. It banged against the wall, the sound echoing up and down the dark square.

He didn't care if there were other Death Eaters in the shadows, waiting for a glimpse of him. He didn't care if the Trace was still on him, ready to draw the Ministry's attention on him in an instant. He aimed at the spot Snape had stood, only to find the man gone. He jerked his head about, searching, but the square was empty.

"Harry!" Ron whispered as he grabbed Harry from behind and pulled him back inside. "What are you doing?"

"I saw Snape," Harry said, struggling to escape Ron's hands. "Right out there."

Ron pushed the door closed even as Harry tried to pull away. "I think being cooped up inside for so long is doing a number on you."

"He was there, Ron," Harry insisted.

"So you decided to let him know we're here, too?" Ron countered.

"He knew that already," Harry argued. "I saw it in his eyes." He went to the window, half-certain Snape was till there, waiting for him.

But the man was not there after all.

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><p>Snape sunk further into the shadows, his teeth grinding as he watched Weasley draw the curtains, hiding the two boys from sight. Potter… was reckless, but no more than Severus was tonight. He could practically hear the world laughing at him, the tragic fool.<p>

His fingers traced the outline of the torn picture in his pocket. His body ached for a reaction, a look, and he got it, but it was not enough. He felt incredibly tired suddenly, and without another glance, Apparated away.

_end_


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